


Your Wish Come True

by TeaYouLater



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Demon AU, Demon Summoning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, check pleas au, demon bitty, omgcp - Freeform, zimbits - Freeform, zimbits au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:10:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaYouLater/pseuds/TeaYouLater
Summary: "I didn't know reading that would summon a demon"Sentence prompt Zimbits ficJack Zimmermann takes solace in his routines. Work, workout, sleep, and once a week, spend the afternoon at the library. But an uncovered secret reveals itself to cause more trouble than initially thought. But is a change in his routine so bad?





	Your Wish Come True

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm writing all the chapters at once and posting them near the end of February (2019) as well as editing this chapter 1 bc wow it is a mess so there ya go see yall soon

    It’s days like these that Jack could almost lose himself in the library. Rain tapping on the glass ceiling of the lobby, hardly anyone there, quiet and alone. Just the few librarians working the front desk or re-shelving books.

    It’s peaceful.

    It’s perfect.

    He adjusts his messenger bag on his shoulder and continues his trek to the back of the library. _History and Reference_. Not a lot of people hang out there. Nothing new and interesting. But that’s not how Jack sees it. He could get lost in just the smell of the old tomes alone. Each holds a story he hasn’t discovered yet, a link to the past, a lesson to be learned.

    Empty tables and chairs greet him, same as always. Bay windows spattered with rain drops blur the leaves of the high bushes just outside; a dusty checkerboard sits on a small table; high shelves on each wall, lining the room with old crinkled spines and the sweet, musky smell of age. Well, aged books. The elderly don’t smell like sweet musk. Most of the time.

     Jack sets his bag down and situates himself in his favorite spot. One of the big cozy chairs by the bay window. He’s been using it so long, he could swear that the cushion had an imprint of his butt.

    This is how he passes his personal hours. Writing on his laptop, browsing the shelves when stretching his legs, eating his lunch. It’s peaceful. A break from the hectic life of an NHL star. No press, no stress, no rabid fans. The only one who recognizes him is Margaret, the 65 year old librarian who couldn’t care less who he is, so long as he respects the books and staff. He loves Margaret.

    It’s his third or fourth pass of the shelves when he trips. Jack steps on his own shoe lace and stumbles sideways, managing to catch himself on one of the shelves in front of him. It’s no big deal. He sighs and ties his shoes again. Double knot. Hopefully that will knot happen again. Jack snorts at his own stupid pun. He straightens up and something catches his eye. The shelf he used to steady himself had shifted just to the side. Whoops. Better fix that up.

    He grips the edge of the shelf and stops. Behind the tall wall of books isn’t, well, a wall, but an empty space. Curious. Jack peeks through the crack. The stale air assaults his nose from the dark recesses behind the shelves of European history books. He pulls on the shelf a little and it nudges towards him, skidding on the library carpet a couple inches.

    Nope. Uh-uh. Not today, not tomorrow, not happening. Creepy stale hidden rooms are not for the average hockey playing patron. He’s sure of it. Jack shoves the bookshelf back into place, sealing off the mysterious alcove, and plops back down in his cozy chair with his laptop open and water bottle half finished. He stares holes in the books on the shelf door. Nothing seems out of place. Just like it has been for years. Jack swipes his hand through his hair and down his face. So much for routine. He shoves his laptop back in his bag and gets ready to leave. The rain hasn’t let up much, so he’ll have to be careful on his way back home. Margaret waves goodbye and he sets out.

 

 

    The next week, Jack returns to the library. He walks past the lobby, through the various sections to his little piece of paradise in the past. He takes his usual seat, pulls out his laptop, and gets to work writing. He falls into his routine like it’s a feather bed and he sleep deprived mess. Which, by definition, he probably is. It’s been a tough week of playoffs. The team is doing okay, but the next couple of games will make or break their chance for the Cup. They were so close last year, but a stupid mistake cost them the game. They didn’t even make it past round one. Jack finds solace in his quiet routine in the library. No on hounding him, no one anywhere near him. Just him, his laptop, the books.

    And the shelf.

    He can _feel_ his back burning from the hidden room behind him. Behind the shelf. Jack’s fingers slowly stop their typing and he just stares at the screen. He hasn’t stopped thinking about the mystery room. On ice, he can ignore it-shove it to the back of his mind. But when he walks to his car, to the store, when he’s trying to sleep. It’s just so damn bizarre! Why is there a hidden door to a hidden room? I mean, of course everyone has thought about putting in a secret room in their house or something as a kid or teen. But to actually find one? In a public library no less? What the hell?

    He looks up at the ceiling and sighs. What the hell? Fuck it. Why not?

    Jack makes his way to the shelf that hides his odd find. _European History._ He grabs the shelf and gives a small tug. It doesn’t move. He pulls harder, and it slowly edges away from the wall. Air pulls behind the shelf. The light from the room and the windows leaks into the space beyond the library walls. It takes a second, but his eyes adjust to the gloom.

    And gloomy just about covers it. The heavy air smells like dirt and mold and a thick layer of dust covers the floor, the walls, the little table shoved in the corner. The room is no bigger than a large utility closet. Two wooden shelves on separate walls, a rotting table with a couple books on it, and a dingy lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, a rusted chain hanging stock still. The floor is a step lower than the library-the dust coating the floor doesn’t have a single mark save a couple waves from the fresh air blowing in from the doorway.

    Jack holds his breath and listens. No one seemed to hear anything, and no one ever comes to this section during lunch. It’s fine though, right? This is a library, after all. There are books in here. But, if so, why was this room hidden behind a secret door? It doesn’t look like anything in here has seen the light of day for ages. Still, curiosity killed the cat, and only satisfaction brought it back, right? One more sweeping glance around the area assures Jack that no one is there to see him step down into his little hidey hole, closing the door most of the way behind him.

    He reaches for the chain on the lightbulb to give it a test pull. The rusted metal scrapes, but it clicks, and the light comes on. Not very bright, but it does its job. Terrified to make too much noise, he gingerly circles around the room, eyeing each shelf and each book. Most of them are leather bound and old. Spines cracked and well worn. Some of the spines have titles too faded to read, others simply emblems or symbols to mark what they are. Jack runs his finger along a row of books, collecting the grime covering the forgotten things on his fingertip.

    The table in the corner only has two books on it. One is open and weighed down with a stone paperweight to a page with intricate ink drawing covering one page, and faded writing on the other. He picks up the book and studies the picture. The writing looks like and old runic language with some Latin written in the margins. The pages are yellowed and thick, the ink grey and faded over time. On the left page was writing and scribbled notes, on the right, however was an intricate drawing. A perfect circle with an emblem in the middle. Various geometric shapes inscribed in one another with symbols and words written in a careful hand. On the bottom of the page, strong, bold Latin is written. It had been a while since Jack took any Latin, but it was a fun elective in college. He picked up the book and carried it over to the light to get a better look. He fingered the edge of the pages as he eyed it over.

    A quiet bang sounds from outside the room making him jump. He slams the book shut, using his thumb as a book mark as he freezes in place. Quiet and still as the room before he entered. Jack turns around, careful to not make a sound. The secret door was mostly shut, save a sliver to make sure he could get out easily. No one would notice it from the outside, right? Who pays that much attention to the way the shelves are positioned, anyways? Okay, he does, and so do many people, but hopefully not that person. How embarrassing would it be to be caught? A grown man sneaking around the library?

    Not breathing, not moving, the only sound his frantic heartbeat. Ten seconds…twenty…forty…. a minute passes and nothing else. Jack lets his breath out slow and steady and reopens the book to its spot. In his panic, he didn’t notice anything, but on opening the book back up, he feels a sting of pain. When he jumped, his finger slid along the old parchment and cut open his thumb. Not much-just a paper cut- but a little blood got on the page with the geometric patterns. He tries to wipe it off, but some of it is still smeared onto the page. Whoops…

    He goes back to studying the Latin written in the margins. He should brush up on it. Maybe email his old professor. A couple phrases and words he recognizes.

     _Abundans cautela non nocet._ ‘Abundant caution does no harm’. Okay, sound advice.

    There’s more on the page. Much of it is just scribbled notes between lines. The only easily readable part is the text at the bottom of the picture. Jack hasn’t seen this phrase before. What does it all mean? He studies the letters and angles the book to get a better look in the dim light.

    Under his breath, Jack sounds out the words written there. Soft and easy. A little wind from outside the room picks up and rustles the hair on his forehead. The lightbulb flickers a little before settling back down. Jack looks up at it. Probably for the best that he leaves then. The room is so old, who knows how bad the wiring in that thing is. He sets the book back down on the table, eyes his blood stain on the picture, and puts the weight back on the page to hold it open. Everything looks just as it was. Jack turns on his heal to head back out to his seat when he stops dead.

    Right in front of him, in this tiny, hidden room, is someone else. A short blonde man looks up at Jack with eyes so dark they’re almost black. His soft white button-up is half undone, exposing the top of his chest, and tucked into a pair of black leather shorts. Hands on his hips, he stares into Jack’s eyes, freezing him in place. But the intensity of his stare isn’t what catches Jack’s attention. It’s the two curing horns protruding from the mystery man’s forehead.


End file.
